


Once Upon A Dream

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (sort of!? very loose), Dragons, F/M, Sleeping Beauty AU, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: Sansa is under a curse - fallen into a magical sleep, she, according to the prophecy, can only be awoken by a kiss from a dragon. Arya rides south to ask for help from the dragon king Aegon, but the king’s grumpy half brother Jon might prove to be an obstacle.





	Once Upon A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Jonsa exchange on tumblr - voilá - a silly Jonsa fairytale fic.  
> Find me on tumblr: aladyinasong.tumblr.com

Summer had turned to autumn and the North had gone into slumber. Winter was approaching, closer every day, and with it an eternal darkness, an eternal sleep. In the highest tower in the northernmost holdfast laid a princess, her hair as red as the leaves outside. She was the image of peace as she laid there, breathing lightly, but her sleep turned deeper and more dreamless with every passing day. Her fate, the princess Sansa’s fate, would be the fate of the kingdom, and the moment Sansa finally stopped dreaming all together would be the moment the North would fall.

Her brothers sat by her bed night and day. Sansa did not know it. Her head was full of pictures and stories and songs, blurry bits and pieces of a world that was almost, but not entirely like the real one. Her dreams were strange and colourful and with soft edges, like a painting come to life. Sometimes the dreams turned to nightmares of beasts, lions jumping at her throat. She should be afraid, had been afraid - she had fallen into a sleep she would likely never wake from. But no matter how vivid the dreams became, there was always a presence in them, a fact she was certain of but could not grasp or explain. A voice in the back of her head, telling her to hold on. That someone was coming for her. That this was, in fact, not the end.

So she was not afraid.

***

Arya rode hard and fast, the sound of hooves in autumn mud her constant companion. She rode better and quicker than any of her brothers, so it was her they had sent south for help - she who would have to convince the dragon to come flying north to help them. Arya barely stopped to sleep at night, and she ate on horseback. Faster, faster, faster. _I might already be too late._

***

Sansa dreamt she was walking barefoot in the snow, without feeling the cold. When she looked down she realised it was not snow after all, but long, white fur.

***

The dragon king Aegon was already seated upon his throne when Arya burst into the throne room, despite the late hour - tales of the sleeping princess must somehow have reached the castle before Arya had. Beside the throne stood the half-dragon, the king’s brother, with dark hair and dark eyes. He wore a face so solemn Arya wondered who had died, but king Aegon gave her a dignified smile.

“Your grace”, Arya began, bowing, breath caught in her throat. “I have come from the North to beg for your help. My sister …” 

“We know why you have come”, the king interrupted, and gestured for her to rise. Did he mean we as in his court, or did this dragon king think of himself so highly he said we and not I when talking about himself? Arya arose. “We have heard of your sister. An enchanting tale, really. We should have a bard write a song. A sleeping beauty in a tower in the north.”

“She need not be sleeping for much longer.” Arya was growing impatient. Every second speaking was time wasted. She had come so far … “The prophecy is clear, your grace. The North needs your help. My sister … Sansa …” She paused. “She needs your help as well.” 

***

Sansa dreamt she stood in the window of the tower, jumping right into the open air. She was not afraid - she knew she would not be hurt. The snow would catch her, ease her fall - and so it did, embracing her softly.

***

“It is folly!” Jon ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. His brother did not seem to be bothered - Aegon even had the audacity to whistle as they walked through the corridors. “A southern king hasn’t travelled north for centuries - and to leave just for some words an old crone said a hundred years ago …”  
“It’s a prophecy, brother.”  
“It’s madness!”  
“The dragon’s kiss shall wake the wolf, and the gods shall from above; bless those in the tower, who dream the dream of love.”  
“I know the damn words.” Jon was trying his best not to roll his eyes. Or vomit.

“They say she’s a beauty, you know?” Aegon said, surprising Jon. “The princess. A real beauty. The life-changing kind.” Jon wanted to shake the king by his shoulders. Jon loved his brother, but oh-too-often Aegon had an annoying tendency to be shallow, naïve - all he wanted was to play the hero and win the heart of some pretty girl. Gods save them all if Jon and Rhaenys, their sister, would ever cease to assist in the ruling of the kingdom. From the moment they had first heard the tale that suggested the prophecy was true and that a beautiful girl needed help, Jon had known Aegon was sold.

“If you want beauty, go look at a painting. Stay here.” He made a last effort. Aegon hardly seemed to hear him.

“Rhaenys will take over my duties, she does them better than me anyway …” Aegon grinned. Jon made a face at him. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

“We?”

“I assumed you’d want to come along. To keep an eye on me. Besides, you want to see me give the princess the kiss of life, don’t you? Someone will have to describe what it looked like to the painters afterwards.”

***

Arya had never ridden a dragon before. She thought she could get used to the sensation of muscles lifting her up, up, up into the sky. Had it not been for the grimness of the occasion, she would have been bursting with joy. The king’s brother seemed to be thinking the same - for the first time since Arya had met him (which, to be fair, was the night before), Jon (which she now knew he was named) seemed relaxed, at peace. He stared into the clouds, and Arya couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking of.

***

Sansa dreamt she sat mounted on a wolf, chasing a stranger through the woods. She called after him, asking him to say his name, show her his face. A presence she had felt in her dreams, a comfort - was it him?

The stranger did not turn.

***

It was not until she was halfway up the tower stairs, the prince and his brother close behind, that Arya realised how tired and scared she was. So hard she had fought, so long she had tried. What if it had not been enough? She opened the door trembling, her brothers looking up as the small party entered, but Arya kept her eyes on the bed - where Sansa was still laying. Breathing, but very lightly. Alive, but barely.

***

Sansa dreamed something launched itself at her in the dark winter forest, a creature with white fur and teeth dripping with blood - a snow lion. She lifted her chin, wanting her last act to be one of resistance - but as the lion prepared for attack, it was struck by a flaming sword. Her stranger had returned.

***

Sansa. Princess Sansa. Jon saw her lay atop the bed, pale even against the white covers, red hair cascading across the pillows, and was ashamed of himself for thinking of how beautiful she was. There laid a young woman in her prime balancing on the edge of life, her grieving siblings gathered around her, even Aegon seemingly taken aback by the sadness of it all, yet all he could think of was her beauty? It was, truly, ridiculous. But, still.

A real beauty. The life-changing kind.

The girl - Arya - looked at Aegon impatiently. The king, staring at the princess, did not notice - Jon elbowed his side to turn his attention.

“Oh … right. I guess I should just… I mean, I suppose I have to …” Aegon suddenly looked very, very nervous. Jon could not blame him. None of the gathered northerners seemed all to happy at the prospect of the southern king kissing their sleeping sister - hells, Jon couldn’t blame them, either. Aegon approached the bed. The eldest of the brothers - Robert? Robin? Something with an R - shifted in his chair. Jon stared awkwardly straight ahead, where his brother, after only a moment of hesitation, planted a kiss on the princess’ cheek.

Everyone in the room collectively held their breaths. Nothing happened.

The youngest brother spoke. “Maybe … maybe it has to be on the mouth? Like … like married people do it?” Arya cringed. Aegon hesitantly obeyed, his lips briefly brushing against the princess’s.

And yet, nothing happened.

***

The forest in her dream was turning darker, the only light coming from the fire of the stranger’s sword.

“Turn around”, she whispered as the snow lion perished in flames. “Let me see your face.”

And so he turned to face her.

And she saw him.

***

Jon’s heart sank.

“Why isn’t it working?” It was the youngest brother who said it, voice trembling. “Why isn’t she waking up?” No one had an answer to give him. Arya spun around, panic tearing her eyes as she looked at her eldest brother, as if he could help. No one moved.

It was the middle brother who broke the fear-filled silence, speaking for the first time, his eyes fixed at Jon as he said, with a voice wiser and older than he looked: “You try it.”

“Me?” Jon took a step back.

“Him?” the eldest brother said.

“A kiss from a dragon, is the prophecy - it did not say which dragon.”

Arya turned towards him, a crazy, burning hope in her eyes as she whispered, “Yes. Yes, this could work.”

No, he wanted to tell them, no, you are mistaken, I am no true dragon. But with the princess laying there, life leaving her, the torn looks on the northerners’ faces … how could he refuse? How could he deny them this last chance, this shred of hope? It would not work, could never work, but how could he not try?

So when Aegon stepped aside, Jon came forward, looking down at the princess. Clumsily, yet as gently as he could manage, he pressed his lips against her soft forehead, praying to whatever god might be listening -

\- and when he pulled back, blue eyes were staring up at him.

And he’d thought her beautiful before! He could not even be shocked, he was under the spell of those eyes, clever, observant eyes meeting his with a half-smile … He could drown in those eyes and die happy.

“There you are”, she whispered. “I know you.”

Although he had no idea what she was talking about, he was tempted to reply _I know you too._

And as she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, her eyelids fluttering as if she wasn’t yet fully awake …

Jon could feel his life changing.


End file.
